


Good (Bad) Ideas

by SunflowerSupreme



Series: Witcher (Books) [15]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Fisting, Anal Gaping, Anal Sex, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, M/M, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prompt Fill, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, all poets are kinky shits, because he’s a dork, idk it’s all Valdo Marx’s fault since the Djinn didn’t kill him, someone told dandelion he was too delicate for fisting so he insisted he needed to prove them wrong, this might be crack?, well actually its porn but its also crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:41:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22775842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunflowerSupreme/pseuds/SunflowerSupreme
Summary: Dandelion enjoys experimentation. Geralt’s just along for the ride.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Witcher (Books) [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1624276
Comments: 11
Kudos: 409
Collections: Witcher Kink Meme (Dreamwidth)





	Good (Bad) Ideas

**Author's Note:**

> Fulfilling the Witcher KinkMeme prompts [Geralt/Jaskier Fisting](https://witcherkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/429.html?thread=8109) and [Geralt/Jaskier Overstimulation](https://witcherkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/429.html?thread=53933)

Dandelion’s sides trembled as he sucked in another deep breath. “Geralt,” the troubadour whined. “St-stop teasing.”

“I’m not teasing,” he argued. “I’m being careful.”

The troubadour whined. “Why?”

Geralt removed the two fingers that he’d successfully gotten inside Dandelion and rolled back onto his knees. “I’m not going to hurt you, you stupid poet.”

They were in the woods on the soft, mossy ground, a cloak spread beneath them. Ordinarily, they would have laid their bedrolls out and pushed them together into a bed, but given what they were doing, Geralt had opted inside to fashion the bedrolls into a pillow of sorts for Dandelion.

The poet was sprawled on the makeshift pillow, his eyes wide with arousal, a pout on his lips from being denied. His cock was already erect, pressing up against his stomach, and if Geralt was half-hard in his pants, well, that was off-topic. “I’m not stupid!”

“I’m not going to stick my hand up your ass without knowing you can take it.”

Dandelion snorted. “Geralt, I’m not delicate, not in these matters, I know exactly what I’m capable of.”

“And I know what I’m willing to do, and hurting you isn’t on that list, you bloody poetaster!”

“If Valdo Marx can take a trumpet up his ass, I can manage this.”

Geralt snorted, amused to find that they were back to the beginning of the conversation. To what had started everything: Dandelion and his self-created rivalry with the Troubadour of Cidharis. “Dandelion, I don’t think that happened.”

“Valdo told me-”

“Did anyone else?” Dandelion said nothing, so Geralt pointed out, “The only person who lies more than you is Valdo Marx.”

The poet had the gall to seem offended, giving Geralt a scoff and a scowl. Then he wriggled about and said, “Should I find someone else, Geralt?”

“Where are you going to find someone in the middle of the forest?”

Dandelion snorted. “Perhaps at the next town.”

Geralt snorted. “You wouldn’t trust anyone else,” he pointed out, pressed his fingers back inside Dandelion’s hole.

Once he could easily move two fingers inside Dandelion, he pressed in a third. The poet whined noisily, throwing his head back and knocking it against the tree behind him. Geralt looked up sharply, but upon seeing that he was clearly fine he laughed.

“Mind your head, poet,” he said, giving Dandelion’s side a light slap with his free hand. “You don’t have many brain cells to spare.”

“Fu-fuck you, Geralt,” Dandelion moaned.

“I’d prefer to fuck you.”

Dandelion’s next groan was more of a noise of annoyance than lust for once.

He spread his fingers carefully, watching Dandelion’s face for any sign of discomfort. But then, all he could smell off the poet was pure arousal. He pulled his fingers out after a moment, ignoring Dandelion’s whimpered protest, and reaching for the oil.

“Ready?”

“Oh yes,” panted Dandelion.

After pouring even more oil over his hand, Geralt curled his fingers together, then very slowly pressed against Dandelion’s hole. Once all four fingers were inside, he looked up at Dandelion, gauging the poet’s face to determine if he could continue.

“Please,” Dandelion whimpered, his hands wrapping in the cloak. “Geralt please-”

He curled his thumb in, tucking it behind his fingers, then poured more oil over the lower part of his hand, from his knuckles to his wrist. Then he pressed it deeper.

Dandelion screamed.

Geralt’s first instinct was to pull back, but he knew doing so would only harm the poet. Then he realized that it had been a sound of bliss. 

He snorted when he saw Dandelion’s face, his mouth hanging open stupidly from pleasure, his eyes rolled back in his head.

With his free hand, Geralt patted his side. “Dandelion?” he asked. “Are you with me, poet?”

It took a moment for Dandelion to nod, his eyes fluttering as he smiled at Geralt. “Uh huh,” he mumbled.

Geralt rubbed his friend’s side soothingly as he waited for Dandelion to relax. He could feel his muscles clamped around his wrist as his body rebelled against the unfamiliar feeling, but finally, he began to relax again, giving Geralt a quick nod.

With that, he slowly unclenched his hand.

Dandelion let out a sob, tossing his head back, his body rocking slightly.

Geralt grinned, tilting his head, and shifting his hand inside Dandelion who continued to babble wordlessly. Geralt chuckled softly, running his free hand down the poet’s side soothingly. “Are you ever quiet, poet?” he asked with amusement.

Dandelion shook his head, mumbling something undeterminable. Geralt snorted. 

The arousal that had been building in the Witcher’s own body was becoming stronger, he couldn’t ignore how good Dandelion looked, smelled, and sounded, not anymore. His free hand moved from Dandelion’s waist to rub at the front of his breeches instead.

Seeing what he was doing, Dandelion reached for him, managing to pull Geralt forward enough that he could press his hand down the Witchers pants. His usually nimble fingers shook as he rubbed them over Geralt’s cock, panting and moaning as he did so. But Geralt removed his hand, swatting him away. He was enjoying watching him far too much and wasn’t ready for his own release, not yet.

Dandelion allowed himself to be moved, allowed Geralt to pull him closer, off his makeshift pillows, until he was nearly in the Witcher’s lap. He was still mumbling softly, although at some point he’d switched from the common tongue to Elder Speech.

“Are you reciting poetry?” Geralt snorted.

Dandelion only shrugged, then cried out as Geralt’s fingers found his prostate. It didn’t take much after that, he screamed and babbled as Geralt massaged the sensitive organ.

He orgasmed with his loudest scream yet, throwing his head back, his entire body spasming enough that Geralt placed his hand against his stomach to stop him from moving his lower body and injuring himself.

Then he fell silent, almost appearing unconscious. Geralt would have been worried, but Dandelion was worthless and limp after normal sex, such overstimulation must have pushed him too far.

The Witcher carefully removed his hand, and even in his stupor, Dandelion sniffled at the loss of the fullness. An idea came to mind, and Geralt gathered him up, pulling him into his lap, laying Dandelion’s head on his shoulder. He unlaced his breeches quickly, pressing his erect cock against Dandelion’s hole. “May I?” he asked.

Dandelion nodded and mumbled something unintelligible. Tears dripped down his cheeks as he sniffled into Geralt's ear. 

There was enough oil still coating him that Geralt didn’t need to add more, lifting Dandelion and easily setting him down on his cock. The poet whined softly as Geralt thrust into his oversensitive hole, but he continued to cling to the Witcher’s shirt, a clear invitation for him to continue.

It didn’t take long for Geralt to climax, but even then he didn’t pull out of Dandelion, keeping him pinned in his lap as he drug them both back to the makeshift pillow, leaning against it and rubbing Dandelion’s shoulders and back soothingly.

“Easy,” he murmured. “Shhhh. Settle down, Dandelion.”

Dandelion remained limp, mumbling nonsense as Geralt finally pulled out, a keening wail falling from his lips at the loss of comfort. He stretched Dandelion out on his stomach and knelt between his legs, poking his finger at the poet’s gaping hole. He was loose and fucked out, gaping open with a mixture of oil and semen dribbling from him. Thankfully, despite the rough handling, there was no blood tinging the mess.

“I don’t think you’re going to be riding tomorrow, my friend,” he said, rubbing his thumb down his crack, gathering up the semen that was oozing out, and pressing it back inside playfully.

“I be fine,” mumbled the poet.

Geralt only shook his head. “Let’s stay here tomorrow,” he said. “I think we’ve earned a day off.”

“Eh.”

Geralt laughed, landing a light slap on Dandelion’s ass and getting a whimper in response. “Let me get you cleaned up.”


End file.
